Do fairies have tails?
by TurnerPendragon
Summary: DRAMIONE. Takes place in final year, post war, when secrets are revealed. Two old rivals have found comfort in each other, but neither has been completely honest. But emotions are as fragile as people they are forwarded to, so when it all comes to an end, will a happy end await?


**A/N: I own nothing.**

_**Do fairies have tails?**_

There was so much blood. The abandoned battlefield echoed the deadly silence. He had laid there with the dead, face covered in blood. It seeped through his clothes onto his skin. He felt it run down, drawing pointless lines on his wounded body. He could never wash it off. It reeked of death and abandonment. Death had ruthlessly walked around with it's black robes and the sharp scythe. He had left Draco untouched for God knows what reason, but he was not keen on finding it out. It had helped him up. He had stared at it in wonder and in fear, so sure it was his time to die.

But it had walked away, leaving him untouched. He was one to whine, but at that moment, all he wanted was to be united with his brethren. Everyone was dead. His family - imprisoned. His friends – lost and frightened and so impossibly far from him he felt tears prick his eyes. The war had ended. The light had won. With a sigh, he fell back to the ground, into the mud, unsure of what to expect next.

* * *

It was quite okay. An unfinished love letter on the table, a journal full of her favourite poetry on her lap, while she sat on the comfortable sofa, and a cup of hot tea between her hands made it feel like she existed. She was not just a girl who kept reading books and nothing else mattered to her. She was not obsessed with herself nor with the handsome young lad. She was just her.

There were no others. There had never been, but she had imagined there had. That girls constantly fell in love with him and she had to keep her claws ready to show them: he's taken, he's mine. That only created a bridge between the two.

Now, it was not like that. She barely cared about others. Nay, of course she cared who loved him and who did not, but she could not force herself to hate any of them. He was brilliant. She could not even be jealous, for it was so humane to fall in love with him like she had. She could not say, when she had begun to love this foe. He was pureblood, she was realistic. Perhaps, he was realistic too, somewhere on the other side of the world. However, he could never love her. She was a paper girl - and paper girls do not love for real.

She knew her feelings well. She would grow tired of him and then leave him be. She would lose interest the more he began to like her - if he ever began to like her, that is. He never did. Funnily enough, she did not even seem to mind that whenever they talked, it was all about him. He never asked how she was doing. She never told him. She could not say that she was falling apart, that she was so scared. He never asked.

She had wished for it so long. She had desired more than anything to mean something to anyone. She thought she had found a person like that in him, but.. It was not going to work out. She was too needy and he was too self-centred. He only talked to her if it was convenient to him and she foolishly tried her best to suit his moods. Pitiful girl. Thinking back to it, she could not even explain why she had done it. She had wanted him to like her.

She had been stupid, she stated, taking a sip from the cup. It did not make her feel any better, but it burned down the tears that were threatening to spill. She was all alone now. No one talked to her. No one smiled at her. No one noticed her. It had not been as bad as it was now. It had been moderately fine with people occasionally greeting her in the hallways and outside of school, smiling when she passed and gave an acknowledging nod. Now, if anyone talked to her, they would make her day. She would be grinning for days afterwards, trying to figure out why they had talked to her. Even if the reason was as obvious as anything could ever be. Oh how she wished Harry and Ron were with her!

She had been madly in love with everyone since the day people stopped talking. She would fall for anyone who had even a little time for her. If only it was not that hard. If only it was not that hard to say "I'm busy" to everyone who wanted to break the chains around her hands.

She had become fragile after the war. She was like the one-day-butterfly, who is born at the dawn and who dies at the dusk. She would not exist at all. One moment there, then gone. A cup of tea would stay laying on the empty sofa along with the poetry book. She would become the speckles of dust in the air, little pieces of universe dropped all over the room. She would be free.

"She walks in beauty," she read the poem."Like the night." She raised her eyes and sighed deeply. If only anyone ever quoted poetry to her, she would swoon! She would definitely take care of them until she died.

Such a sweet girl. Always loving others and always taking care of them, always letting them take care of her, even though she herself could manage. They would love her and she would love them. Somewhere in the past a piano started playing. It's fragrant sounds echoed into the girl's heart and she smiled gently. It was warm in the room. It was really quite okay.

Draco stared at his head girl in longing. Ever since she'd dragged him out of the mud, he had found himself drawn to her in a way he'd never felt before. In gratitude and regret. He could see her suffer and felt it impossible to do anything. He was so sure of it. He'd been so scared, but he had hoped. Hoped that things would change in their final year.

The year wasn't different at all. All the colours were gone. World was black and white and then again black, dirty like a dust rag. So tedious that he didn't even want to cry anymore. Sad – because no matter how much he stretch his hand, Hermione wasn't going to grab it.

There had been many days like this. When he had come crying – but it didn't frighten her. Sincerity. Because he'd never met a person who had the right moment's words and ability to read him to sleep. Somehow it was, that if he told her things were bad, it got better again.

He'd loved her for a long time. But now, their time was running out. They'd graduate soon and she would never know. He would never be able to tell her. In fear, he came out of the shadows and sat down next to her, saying nothing. Draco stared at his shaking hands and when Hermione placed her petite one over them, he did not look into her curious eyes, for fear of spilling his secret.

"Hermione?" he asked with a shaky voice. The girl lazily raised her head and smiled dully, boringly. She and Draco had never talked for long. He was, like his name whispered, a fire-breathing dragon and she was the darkness to it, having been named after the god of thievery. Only then she noticed he was holding a pink balloon. It reminded her of childhood.

Silence fell between them. He touched gently her hair and she let him do it, childishly believing he could take away everything bad. They didn't talk. There were not enough words to express their thoughts and the other would be able to know without them.

"Darkness, don't leave yet. Be for one more moment, stay for an instant! In you fits all my pain and shame. To you, I can lie a truth. You don't judge me, you hide everything. You hide my body in shadows and invisible stays my self-consciousness, when I try to speak with him, but my head is empty of thoughts." she thought in desperation, clutching to his hand in unspeakable terror. _Oh. Draco, you are good._

The pink balloon explodes – SNAP.

She winced and looked at the remains, shocked. "An illusion," he thought."A wished dream." They were still together. She wore a surprised mask that made him want to laugh. She was so beautiful in her eyes.

And then he kissed her.

Endings tasted like cinnamon. The bitterness of tears-held-back and swallowed sadness that she refused to show. This aching feeling in his chest that didn't let him grow up. Cinnamon was like an ending. Inviting and tempting smell, but bitter taste – just like the one in his mouth, when she kissed him back and he became her first truth over months.

He was, she was, they were.


End file.
